I Serial Killer
by kataang21
Summary: My philosophy is a simple one - every day in which nobody tries to kill me is a good day. Lately I haven't had too many good days. My name is Aang Sakai. They say I'm a serial killer. Modern AU Taang.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know you all probably think I'm crazy what with posting a new story when I already have **_**two**_** going on, but I just couldn't resist. lol. I hope you like this and REVIEW, FAVORITE, FOLLOW. This is my first Taang so I'm dying to know what you guys think.  
Enjoy :)**

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_I will die. Which is completely pointless. This wasn't part of the plan, at least not my plan. Or was I maybe, subconsciously, going this way all along? But my plan was better; my plan had a meaning._

_Now I'm looking at the barrel pointed to my head and I know that this is the end. It's time for one last tear; we could've used this life for something beautiful, you and me. We just had to stick to the plan. It's time for one last thought; only one occurred. _Toph. _And then the world went black. _

**One **

I start to walk.  
I walk slowly because I don't need to run. I walk slowly because I don't want to run. Everything is provided, even the time of my walking. I calculated that it was sufficiently eight minutes. I have to walk for eight minutes at a regular pace to be sure that the shooter has just enough time to do the job right.

I read somewhere that, if the sun suddenly went out, its light would be arriving to Earth for another eight minutes before it would all tumble into darkness and cold, desperate for the last rays of light.

I reach the point that represents "here" for me so I stop. I reach inside my pocket and wrap my fingers around something cold and familiar. I have to stop and remind myself that this isn't my assignment; I'm only supposed to send the signal. I slowly pull my hand out of the pocket on my pants and slide it into the one on my chest, just above the heart. There is also a small item; the one I am supposed to use. I feel a little button under my fingers. Without a second thought, I press the button. About a mile away a shot echoed through the air. I smile to myself. _I hope he didn't miss._ And just like that it was over; another assignment and another life.

After the blow I leave the scene of the event. Everybody is rushing past me and, instead of doing the logical thing to do- run away, they run _toward_ the explosion. Curiosity is one of man's largest weaknesses. It will bring them down at some point.

Being practically invisible, I make my way down the main road; it's completely empty, which gives me a sense of security. It's less likely that someone will notice me if I walk down a crowded ally, but I choose this path nonetheless.

In the corner of my eye I spot a beggar. Reluctant on whether I should give him some money, I stand by the front door of a nearby building for a whole two minutes before deciding that this could somehow be my penance. I give him ten dollars, feeling much worse than usual about this transaction.

The man that was just shot was the actual victim. The previous two, as the two that will follow his death, were only collateral damage. They probably took his body to the mortuary by now. Hopefully. I don't want to- _can't_- think about him right now. For some reason I don't fully understand, the thought of that poor man lying dead in one of the many allies these city has to offer makes me sick to my stomach. It is an odd feeling. _Guilt. _A feeling I am not quite familiar with simply out of the reason that I don't _feel _guilty. But things are… complicated.

Lately I've been having this strange feeling. As if someone is watching me, waiting for me to make a wrong move, and when I do- I die. But, what if the wrong move is killing the wrong person? And what if we just killed that wrong person? So perhaps this strange fiery feeling that lies at the bottom of my stomach isn't guilt or regret. Maybe it's fear.

I stroll through the city completely unnoticed. Once I reach the end of the road, I step out of the shadows and casually, as if I have no knowledge of the events that took place not a mile away from here, make my way to the newspaper stand. I take my time deciding which paper to buy; I take the Daylily News and hand the woman a dollar. As I walk down the street to the Jasmine Dragon, I read the paper. The previous two attacks aren't mentioned. Either they didn't find the bodies or the government doesn't want to alarm the public. I'd put my money on the latter.

Of course there is no way they'll manage to cover this up. It was pretty much what you call a "public display". I don't usually do my job this way; in the open. I like my privacy. After one of my killings it takes the police a couple of months to discover the body and by the time they do it's completely unrecognizable. Sometimes they find out who it is, but it never does them much good. They can't even figure out what the pattern is. It's a different pattern with each series of murders, but there is always a pattern. One small, simple thing the five victims have in common. _Five._ It's always five. Not one more, not one less. Two at the beginning, the one I'm paid to kill in the middle and then two more. They say it's what _serial killers_ do; it's a game to them. Only thing is- I'm not a serial killer. I'm a hit man. And I am not the only one behind the killings in this town. There is a whole organization that stands behind me.

They say it's a game to serial killers; they do it out of thrill. It's not a game for me. It's a way to stay alive. Ironic, isn't it? I kill five people because there is no way for the police to know which one is the right one. Which one was supposed to die as the only one. There is no way for them to know that there even_ is_ a right one. I have to cover up my tracks because if anyone was to find out that I, or anyone else from the White Lotus Organization, was the one that committed this murder, we would be the ones who would die next. So I do my best not to let that happen. And I kill more people than I am supposed to according to a specific pattern… Sometimes out of fun, just to mess with their heads…

Like a game.

Ma name is Aang Sakai and…maybe I am a serial killer.

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**A/N 2: I'm gonna get a little more writing done before I continue this, but I thought to get the prologue out and see if anybody is interested. Anyway, if you wanna see more review, fav, follow, whatever you feel like :)**

**P.S. if anybody knows a good beta I could ask to help me with this story, please let me know :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks souch for all the wonderful feedback, you guys rock. A special thanks goes to Jhelle for helping with this chapter. Keep on being awesome guys :)**

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"Is this the right one?"

Upon entering, I am immediately greeted with the pleasant sound of wind chimes. I place a foot through the threshold, and once I lift my head, I am faced with the variegation of the flower shop.

An assortment of reds, whites, greens and other hues are bundled into colorful plots. The flowers look healthy, and so do the other plants I can see. In one corner, I find a familiar face conversing with an old woman. He is frowning down upon her, scar only partly exposed due to his sideways profile. I squint at him, and see that his expression masks annoyance.

"No, young man. Those are orchids. I asked for tulips." The old woman says in a nasal voice. She points to the bouquet the young man is fumbling with, obviously disappointed on how this shop runs its services.

It is quite obvious that Zuko is not very talented in his work. A job like this is clearly not befitting for his character. He may be working in a flower shop, and the job may not be very difficult, but as I watch him struggling with the flowers, I could only offer him a sympathetic look.

"You know what, woman?" He snaps at her, and the woman flinched. "Go pick the damn flowers yourself for all I care." Expression hard, he turns to walk behind the counter, leaving the poor woman looking rather appalled. I doubt an employee has ever talked to her the way Zuko had. She glances over at my direction, and then without another word, brushes past me and storms out of the shop, anger trailing behind her.

I sigh and turn my attention to Zuko. He lifts a hand and runs his fingers through his shaggy hair, then without warning, he yanks his hand out forcibly, taking a few pieces of hair with it. I observe him. His expression is the very picture of aggravation and annoyance.

Shaking my head sympathetically, I start towards him "You know," I say. "We're gonna blow our cover if you keep doing that."

"That woman has been pestering me for the last half-hour. She's just lucky she got out of here alive." He turns to me and draws his eyebrows together. "Where were you, Aang? This was supposed to be your watch. You're just lucky he wasn't here."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I merely planned to take a short walk, but…I guess I lost track of time." I know he doesn't believe me. I can see it in his expression, but he doesn't ask any more about my whereabouts.

Zuko is the only member of the White Lotus Society who knows of my little ventures; not because I told him, but because he figured them out himself, despite my efforts to keep them in concealment.

Breathing a sigh, he motions for me to take my place behind the counter, and I move to where he stands. Zuko then crosses the room and exits through the back door. As soon as it closes behind him, I am left alone.

My mind wanders, taking me to all of its darkest corners, carefully formulating the next courses of my actions. Distractedly, I begin to wonder of the next time I'll have to kill and the next time I'll kill willingly. When I assassinate on my own conditions, it's - as much as I hate to admit it - more like a game than anything else. When I am paid to do it, it's not nearly as exhilarating as I wish it to be.

Maybe the problem with this matter is that there simply isn't a problem to deal with. I don't see anything wrong with the things I do, and as much as I propel myself to consider the immoralities of my acts, I simply can't. Admittedly, somewhere deep inside me, there truly is a part of my being that knows how wrong it is, and as much as it pains me to admit, there are other fractions that know that there is an unspoken problem.

Momentarily distracted by my thoughts, I lose track of time and forget to pay attention to my surroundings. It didn't come much as a surprise when Zuko appeared so suddenly. I don't know for how long he has been standing there, but judging by the look on his face, it couldn't have been that long.

"He wants to see you," he says. Seeing how these are the only words that left his lips, I assume this can't be too good. I give him a quick look - which he doesn't return - before stepping out from behind the counter and proceeding down the stairs.

It isn't long before dark thoughts make their way back into my mind again. All the irrational fears that have smothered me for the past few weeks have returned; perhaps I finally made that one move I wasn't supposed to, or he wants to see me just so he can kill me, but I doubt that he would. He couldn't take away my life and strangely, I know that. Perhaps this is all in my head. I choose to strongly believe that everything I've thought about for the last month is only the product of my imagination, and that my mind is, in fact, playing tricks on me.

Unfortunately, that doesn't last too long.

I walk slowly, measuring my steps as I went. It is safe to say that I am not too eager to find out what awaited me. As I saunter towards the giant door, I think of all the possibilities. Perhaps something went wrong during the mission. But wouldn't Zuko be the one in trouble and not me? After all, he was the one to deliver the shot. My track record is perfect–not a single mission failed in the last five years that I've worked here, and I am confident and certain of my precision.

The thought leaves me with two options, then: either he wants to commend me or he wants my punishment.

With the latter on my mind, I slowly knock on the door and wait for a response. It is ironic how little trust there is between us, despite the fact that we are practically a family, and I for one, could never imagine Iroh killing anybody. Let alone me. However, there is always that healthy amount of apprehension between us, regardless of our relationship, because I am aware of what the old man is capable of.

A moment later, I hear a friendly voice regard me from behind the door. "Come in." Hesitantly, I open it and take a step towards the illuminated room. Iroh is sitting behind the desk, offering me a genuine smile. Doubt slowly creeps in to my system whilst seeing the grin. "Hello, young friend. Please, sit." He gestures toward the chair across from his desk, so I move to take a seat.

A steady silence follows. The old man rests his head on his hands and watches me with an amused expression. As he keeps his gaze on me, the laconism continues to flow. My impatience becomes unbearable as the clock ticks by the second. I drum my fingers on the armrest, unable to bear it any longer. Before I can stop myself, I burst out:

"What did you call me here for?" I ask; eager to discover what he wants from me. Not a full minute had passed since I sat down, but as the seconds ticked, it almost felt like an eternity.

"Quick to get to the point, I see," he says. "You don't enjoy my company anymore, Aang?" He looks at me, waiting for an answer, but I doubt that I can find the strength to lie to him, so I say nothing. It's not that I don't enjoy his company, it's just that I've been dancing on the edge of insanity, and if he doesn't get straight to the point soon enough, I'm pretty sure I'm going to fall over that edge.

"Well, if you must," he says, dropping a file in a red carton on the table. I take it in my hands and open it, studying the pictures and the biography.

"What is this?" I peered at him.

"Your new assignment."

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She is walking through the corridors, poised and with a fiery look in her eyes, as if nothing in the world can stop her even if they persist. Upon reaching her father's "office", she stops to think about the possibilities. Not only once, she assumed, had her Father called her to attempt a murder on his own daughter; the man is incapable of doing so. He'd rather give her a second chance than waste the value of a prodigy. She, like her brother, has a bit of a temper that would never fail to get her into trouble, be it with her Father or the other Equalists. Maybe this time there won't be much of a difference: he would yell at her for her incapability to support a low profile, she would listen and nod just like the obedient little girl she is, and it would all end with a mere threat that both she and her father know will never be pushed through.

On the other hand, she couldn't recall a single failed mission in the last six months. As a matter of fact, it hasn't been long ago that she had been commended by her father for the significant improvement. It is pathetic, really. Not once had she failed to complete an assignment, and yet she is always the first to be blamed when things go out of hand.

Sometimes she can tell she is being discriminated by her Father because she is a female.

Aside from her, there are only two other women in the whole organization: Mai and Ty Lee. The trio often work together and are somewhat considered friends, despite their significant differences in their personalities. Mai is the very definition of intimidation and danger; stoic and dull, blunt and mysterious. On the other hand, Ty Lee is considered as the life of their faction; up-beat, cheerful and hyper-energetic. The latter girl is obviously not someone you can picture killing people for money.

The other members of the The Cauldron are all men, so the women always needed to prove themselves in order to gain their comrades' respects.

Mind hauled back to reality, the girl boggles from her daydream. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts, and suddenly realizes that she had been standing there much longer than she should have. She slowly lifts a hand and raps on the door. A short moment passes in complete silence before she is greeted by her father's low baritone.

"Come in, my dear," he says. She opens the door and steps into the room. The man's features are concealed, much to her disappointment. He sits in the shadows at the farthest corner of the room, so she cautiously moves to take a seat in one of the chairs near the desk.

She waits for whatever there is to come.

There is silence. Seconds pass, and he says nothing. Gathering up her courage, the girl cannot wait any longer, so she swallows the lump past her throat and speaks.

"You requested my presence, Father, and I would like to know why." Her voice is trembling with fear and she can only hope he doesn't notice, for if the man senses her fear, he will consider her a coward.

"Yes, I did," he says. "But don't worry, there is still time." He spins from his chair, rises from his place and slowly walks over to where she is seated. He takes the seat next to her. "Tell me, Azula, how have you been?"

Complete and utter shock appears on her face, but she is quick to regain her composure. "I'm fine, if that concerns you." It comes out rather harsh, but she doesn't care; after all, all she wants is to know the reasons as to why he summoned her.

"I can see that you are in a hurry so I'll make this quick." He stops to glance at her expression before he stands. Moving in front of her, he begins to pace back and forth in a straight line. Suddenly he stops, and turns to see the concerned look on her pretty face. "I have a task for you."

Azula raises a questioning brow at that. Ozai is never the one to give her an assignment, so what is so special about this one in particular? She cannot help but wonder whether this is part of some evil plan of his, or something that can benefit either of them. Maybe this is yet another way to try to get rid of her. Whatever plan he has, he surely doesn't want her to decline.

Her thoughts end when he finally speaks in a clear tone.

"I want you to kill your brother and uncle."

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**please review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

thanks to **WhenIAmGone** and **E****vilFuzzy9** for the major help with this chapter :)

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**AANG**

Sometimes it seems that life is like a mirror - dim, fragile and easily broken. As time passes by, my reflection becomes more and more unrecognizable and I come to see that the person I used to be is not who I am anymore; that part of me had been lost for longer than I can set the strings of my memory to.

I remember being vulnerable, unable to see the world in its true cruelty and injustice while growing up. I remember clearly as realization of life's true nature struck my nine-year old, tender mind - so innocent and ignorant. I was – as I still sometimes feel – just a child trapped in the spinning circle of disaster as my family, my life and everything I knew as familiar and comforting, fell apart before me.

My father, whom I had known to be gentle and caring, had left me. He left without saying goodbye – without saying anything at all. I could not comprehend, nor could I understand the fact he was gone or the reason which had driven him to leave. Yet I felt a strange sensation as I slowly came to realize he would not return – a feeling I could never grasp completely and could not distinguish its meaning. Not much time had passed before I was forced to disregard my inner conflict and confusion, for illness – that I had yet to fully understand – has struck my mother unexpectedly.

I was, as of then, the one taking care of our little family. I had no one else to turn to but myself, yet I was not enough. I had no way to earn money – which we didn't have that much of to begin with – so I reluctantly turned to something I've been taught was wrong from my earliest childhood – stealing. Struggling for survival I had all but fallen to undiscovered, dark and all too deterrent corners of my own mind – seemingly inescapable places of my own creation – and all just to convince myself that it was okay. It was okay that I was stealing food and medicine because my mommy needed it; it was okay to take from those who had plenty when we had almost nothing; it was okay that, as time passed by and my mother's condition got worse, I didn't take from only those who had much to spare, but from people who were in just as bad, and sometimes even worse, situations as I was; and it was okay that guilt or culpability held no place in my mind over my unduly wrongdoings. What began as petty theft turned into greater stealing each day and I couldn't bring myself to stop, for if I did we would either die of starvation or freeze to death. It was a situation from which I saw no escape and I felt trapped, with no possibility of liberation. Each day that I would steal more food or medicine more expensive than the previous one, I would return to the comforting darkness of my ruinous mind. And that was okay, even though it was wrong.

I began to slowly waste away – physically and mentally – no longer caring for myself but only for my mother's rapidly receding health. No longer did I waste my time caring for the consequences of what I was doing. I blindly followed the increasing need to survive on the street – in a world in which I was rejected and unwanted. Even as my mother fell into dementia and failed to notice I was there at times – or even who I was – and offer me comfort when I felt I would fall over the imaginary edge, I never stopped caring for her. She was all I had left and I was all she had left. We were alone, but we were together.

I remember being afraid and confused by my mother's motionless, pale body. I remember calling her name – the sound of which I now remember vaguely – and pleading with her to open her eyes and look at me. I remember telling her I had brought her medicine and that she needed to take it so she would feel better. The ignorant childish smile that had placed itself upon my lips gradually – yet, somehow, at the same time – rapidly fell and faded, and was replaced with a deep frown and stinging tears in my dark, hollow eyes. I held my mother's body, embraced her tightly in my arms, hoping to offer her just a little comfort and warmth if I could not offer it to myself. Right then, the world became bigger, lonelier and darker than it had been before. I cried silently but my mind was loud and jumbled, screaming inwardly.

Pushing thirteen years, I had yet to grasp the meaning of death and understand it wholly, but I knew my mommy was gone and she wouldn't come back. I knew I was now officially left stripped of everything – of a place to call home. I had to force myself to come to terms with what had happened and move on but all I was able to do was rock my mother's life-drained body in my arms and weep over her death. It was more than I could handle; much more. It was, I realized, a parting in which I had not participated. My mother had left me, she had gone to sleep never to wake up, and I wasn't there to hold her hand and whisper to her that I will one day come and find her in a place where there was no more injustice, where we could be together again. I had failed to tell her how much I love her and how much I cherish the love that she had given back to me, even if she had remembered it only indistinctly and briefly.

After endless hours of sobbing, the cold had finally bettered me. I hadn't noticed that it was snowing thickly until I looked up at the night sky. It was mid-December, I remembered, and the snow quickly blanketed the cold stone ground. I looked down at my skinny body and pitiable realized I wasn't wearing much more than a plain, long-sleeved shirt and ripped jeans that I had outgrown several months ago. The shirt was so thin I could practically feel the snow's coldness reaching my skin – it was so cold that it physically hurt. I had been looking to provide my mother with warmth so I completely neglected the cold surrounding me. Reaching down now, I notice my mommy's pale cheek to be almost as cold – and white – as the snow itself. With the bitter company of remorse, shame and hot tears streaming down my face I stripped my mother of her thick winter clothing, leaving her with a shirt as thin as mine and a dirty, pitting skirt, and place the coat around my shoulders and the scarf around my exposed neck.

Immediately I felt warmer, the cold feeling in my arms almost completely ceased.

But at the same time I felt colder, the hollow feeling in my heart rising to its zenith as I watched the poor, ill-looking woman, who looked so much like my mother, being covered in the falling snow.

I turned after giving her a kiss goodbye – a kiss goodnight – and didn't look back again. I strayed into the unknown, reconciled with the thought of dying in the cold snow, in the unknown, and already regretting leaving my mother alone, failing to hold her hand yet again. With a pitiful sigh I realized that, even if I had the strength to go back, I was lost and with no way of returning. So, as it seemed to be the only thing left to do, I curl up in a ball and lay into the snowy bed, awaiting my soon-coming death, happy to leave the miseries of this world behind.

But death never came. Instead, upon waking from my dreamless sleep, I am greeted with warm golden eyes. I am greeted with a warm, smiling face.

"My son, you look lost." The face said. "Where is your mother?"

I lift my body to a sitting position and look at him. "She went to heaven." Was the only response I could give him, though I was unsure if my mother did go to heaven. The man's face turned sad.

"Well, I am sure she is in a better place now." He offered me a small smile and I nodded reluctantly. "You should not be in the cold. Come, I'll take you inside."

I never understood why I listened to him, but I was always glad I had. Iroh, he said it was his name, had given me a new place to call home and a new family – strangers that I had, over time, come to respect and love. He had given me back everything that was stolen from me – except for the one thing I truly needed – and I was always grateful for it.

So grateful that, by the time I was eighteen and, as Iroh had put it, a man, I was ready to take upon myself the responsibility of stepping into the 'family business' to show my gratitude. I had taken upon myself the responsibility of becoming an assassin. I never imagined feeling thrilled over killing, for all I knew, an innocent person and yet, the first time I did, it felt fulfilling. That night a new side of me was born – the monster inside me.

After the first kill there was another and another, and another one after that. Soon, I found myself unable to wait for an order so, for the first time, I killed on my own. The feeling was exhilarating, much more than I would have imagined it to be. I liked it better. It was, in a strange way that my mind wasn't able to process wholly just yet, freeing – like letting my anger out on people who didn't really deserve it would somehow help me cope with all the pain and grief I felt over losing my mother. Iroh wasn't versed in my little ventures; I saw no need for that. I continued killing on my own whenever I had the chance. Both the government and the White Lotus Order were concerned over the amount of murders in such a short period of time. As a precaution, I had to learn to be more careful.

The thrill over killing soon became an obsession, a sick need that even I myself couldn't understand. I felt trapped within the madness of my own mind, but was so comfortable in the darkness of it all that I felt hollow every time upon returning to reality. And I kept going back, each time wanting – _needing_ – more.

And now, so many years later – years in which I've killed more people than I can count – here I am once again standing on the roof of some random building, preparing myself to kill yet another random person. I'm not supposed to be here, but that thought alone gives me more pleasure than I imagined it possibly could. For a split second I feel shame - shame of the man I have become, the man that the world has shaped me into. Often, in the past, I would console myself with the thought that this was what I had to do to survive. In the beginning, when I first got into the job, I didn't really understand what I got myself into. This feeling I got every time I killed someone- and even before, when they were only training me for it - I mistook for guilt and fear when in reality it was excitement. Soon I realized it was expectancy and anticipation rather than regret. I realized then that I _wanted _this life. I _want _to kill people because I _like_ it. And as sick and twisted as it may sound, I'm glad Iroh had found me that night mainly for that reason.

A little dazed from my thoughts, I step on the next building in line with ease. It's a little lower than the one I was standing on beforehand. _Good. _Upon choosing my location, I look for the man I was following. He is standing at a nearby payphone making a call. It looks like he just began. That will give me plenty of time to set everything up. I look down at the man again; he hasn't moved. I smile to myself; everything is going smoothly. I carefully make my way to the windows of the building's top floor. There are buildings all around the area which only makes the setting more suitable- as long as he doesn't move.

I move the rifle in my other hand and enter one of the empty apartments. I had to break the window in order to get in, but it doesn't matter. The owners are probably out of town as it is. The floors and furniture are a little dusty and the couch looks like nobody has sat on it for the past three weeks. I turn my attention back to the window. From this location it'll be a little tricky to shoot him, but I'll manage.

I think about all the lives I am putting in jeopardy because of this…and I have to laugh at the irony of it all. I know if Iroh saw me right now he would punish me for risking exposing the whole organization over this, but at this point I don't care. We are, after all, the ones who take lives away; just like I am about to do now. We are constantly playing _God _and, for that, some kind of punishment will fall upon us sooner or later.

I've been doing this for so long now that the fear of being discover has completely vanished from my mind. There is, after all, no room for doubt in this job, this life – my life.

I move closer to the window and study my victim. He is a middle aged man with still dark hair. And still, he hasn't moved. I proceed to watch, what looks like to be, a very intense conversation. After a few more moments I take my gun and start to adjust it. It's harder to get an angle on him, but there is not enough time to go to a new position now. But nevertheless, I manage to get a good enough angle on him to shoot him from this position. _As soon as he steps out of the phone booth..._

The man seems too occupied to pay any attention to what is happening around him and so does everyone else. _Good. _Ignorance is always the assassin's advantage. He slowly walks down the street, looking rather disturbed about something, and as he walks past the building I am in I shoot him. And before the clock on the wall gave another "tick" he was dead. And just like that his life is over. And everything remains the same; the world continues to spin and people continue living – yet, there is one less heart beating and nobody seems affected by it. I wonder if that is how my death will look like – nobody noticing that I stopped breathing.

It makes me think about how, sometimes, life is like a mirror - dim, fragile and easily broken. And sometimes we are the ones that break it.

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**A/N: Next chapter introducing TOPH! Can't wait :)**

**P.S. If you guys want any particular pairing please ask cause I haven't decided yet and I'm open to suggestions (just no Zutara...)**

** Review please :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Dear readers, I am SO sorry for not updating in such a long time and that this chapter is soshort, but life has been a bitch and I had extra little time to work on this. As well as my other stories... Thanks so much for all the follows and reviews I got recently. I'm really happy to know that you're reading this, but I'd love it even more if you'd all review. I can asure you that I'd write 80% faster if you'd just tell me you want to read more. Anyway, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. And as always please review :)**

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I'm running as fast as I possibly can. I don't remember ever running this fast before. Then again, I never had to run for my life before. Horrifying images appeared before my eyes as I tried to maintain my focus on the road ahead of me. There was no time to be this afraid; there was no time to cry over what I have witnessed; I could only run.

**xxXXxx**

I open my eyes only to be struck by the terrifying truth mere moments later – I am locked in a cage. Well, it's not really a cage – it's a prison cell, to be exact. I look around the small space while supporting myself on my elbows in order to get up. I realize I'm chained – and I mean I'm literally bound with chains. I take a deep breath and relies it with a sigh in a poor attempt to calm myself down. But truth to be told there was no calming myself down because _I am locked up in a goddamn cage – _prison cell, but who cares about formalities?

I get of the bed and try to take a few steps to see if I got injured too badly – thankfully I didn't and all my fingers and limbs are still attached to my body as well. I carefully look around the all-too-small room. I stop for a moment as realization struck my mind – now that the adrenalin is starting to fade I am most definitely going to freak out – I've been holding it together for far too long as it is. I make an effort to stay calm; at least I'm alone here and nobody is trying to hurt me. I take a few more steps from the bed, but the chains on my arms and legs – as well as the scratches and bruises all over my body – cause me pain and stop me from moving any further. So I stay put where I am, choosing to return to the utmost uncomfortable bed and sitting back down.

My mind is so jumbled up and loud I can't even hear myself think. It feels like my inner voice is screaming at me to get up and run away from that horrible – not to mention small – space and from those people, but the only response I can give to it is : _How?_

With another heavy sigh I lower myself on the bed, my head now facing the direction of the celling. I take notice of the tiny window above the bed and instantly form an idea in my mind. I get up and look through the window – there are guards all over the yard, as well as at the main gate. So much for being alone. I could feel my face falling from what was an excited smile just seconds ago to a deep frown. There was absolutely no way for me to get past all those guards. I don't consider myself to be a top notch fighter, but I know the basics of self-defense and if there were only one or two men I'm pretty sure I could take them in a fight.

Suddenly I hear an ear wrecking explosion. I turn to the window once again and see pure chaos spreading out there; the guards are running all around the yard - every single one of them seems to go in his own direction – but, the explosion seems to come from the other side of the building so most of them are probably going there. I sit on the bad completely terrified. I have no idea what I'm doing here and now this happens. Maybe they're some kind of terrorists.

I rewind all the recent events that had happened to me in the last few hours. I had nothing to do so I went into town – and what a mistake that was – and decided to take a walk through the main street. Before I could think about what was happening a man's dead body dropped before my feet and two men in black suits appeared in front of me and started chasing me all over town. I ran as soon as I saw them, of course, and I almost managed to out run them, but they caught me. And they brought me here in this hell hole. And now – now the chances are I'm going to die here. In panic I try desperately to get rid of the chains, but to no avail. I look around, this time in hopes that somebody _will _come.

Well, "somebody" did come and that somebody turned out to be a guy that couldn't be much older than me. _Great._ He actually had a key with him and he unlocked my cell door.

"Come on, let's go." His voice is so calm and secure that I can't help but wonder if he had done this before, but I follow him nevertheless – he is probably my one way ticket out of here. We run through the many corridors – I wouldn't guess in my wildest dreams that this building is so big, judging by that cell at least – bypassing at least a dozen knocked out guards spread across the floor. I wonder if he was the one to make this mess. A million thoughts make their way into my mind at once, but I push them all away because I have to focus on the running. Hours seemed to pass by before we finally reach the exit. The guy suddenly stops, forcing me to stop as well.

"What are you doing? We have to go." I urge him, but he doesn't even seem to hear me. He just stands there looking at a blind spot. Finally, after a few more of my outbursts, he moves ever so slowly and carefully, as if expecting to be shot in the head if he moves to fast. We exit the building in that pace, the fear that has formed itself in me growing larger by every passing second. By this time I can hear my heart pounding loudly in my ears. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the Sun's light. After I'm able to see properly again, I see something that could very easily be mistaken for a trick of the light – a familiar, smiling face.

"Iroh?" My voice is filled with fear and relief and surprise all at once. He chuckles – because of the look on my face, I suppose. I run to him and he takes me in for a tight embrace, thereby stopping me from falling to the ground. I laugh and cry all at the same time; all out of relief. I manage to pull myself together after a few short moments and I ask:

"What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?" I stop for a moment to think this through. "You are here because of me, right?" He chuckles again at my question, this time lowering his hands to his belly.

"Of course I am here for you. I couldn't let you be locked up on my watch. Your parents would have my head." After the last sentence he drifts off into deep thought. I snap my fingers in front of his face to awake him from his daydream. He shakes his head lightly and looks somewhere over my head. I turn around and see the younger man that had rescued me standing there, completely silent and still, like a shadow. Lost in my reunion with Iroh I had completely forgotten about him. Now that I had taken a close look at him I could tell that he is a very handsome guy. He has dark brown hair and the most beautiful eyes –a stormy grey colored sky. I actually manage to get lost in them within seconds and when I come to I can feel my cheeks burning. I quickly look away from him and back to Iroh.

"What are we standing here for? We have to go, now." I urge both of them, grabbing Iroh by his sleeve like a helpless little girl.

"Yes, the two of you have to go quickly. There is bound to be an alarm that is going to go off any minute now – as soon as they figure out what's going on."

"What do you mean 'the two of us'? Aren't you coming with us?" My voice comes out as a whimper; I really did feel like crying right now.

"I am afraid not, Toph. If I come with you then they will know that we are behind this and…" He never got to finish for I cut him off.

"Wait, you know who these people are? What do they want with me?"

"They want you dead, and that is why you have to go now." All of the blood in my body suddenly rushes down into my legs, which probably leaves me looking completely pale and frightened – which I, without a doubt, certainly am.

"What?" Is the only shaky response I am able to give at this moment. The grey-eyed man – I never asked for his name – takes my hand in his and says in the sweetest voice I can imagine:

"We have to go now. It'll be okay, I'll explain everything to you once we're safe." He looks over my shoulder and I can practically feel Iroh giving him an approving nod.

"Is he supposed to be my babysitter?" I ask sarcastically.

"Of a sort, yes." He looks at the man standing beside me –who is still holding my hand – and frowns. "You have to hurry. Get going." He then turns directly to him and says: "You know what you have to do. Don't let me down."

"I won't." That's the first time I pay close attention to him speaking – his voice has a gentle tone to it; velvety and deep at the same time. It's soothing. Without another word he turns on his heel and pulls me with him in a sprint. He is much faster than I am so I have to let go of his hand as to keep myself from falling down. He slows down and glances back every once in a while to check if I'm still behind him. After what feels like miles we come to a _civic_ and he gets in it, leaving the passenger door open for me.

"Are you serious?" I exclaim, more to myself than to him. I walk around the car and get in on the passenger side, closing the door behind me. He locks the car as soon as I close it. "This is your idea of a getaway car?"

"It's the most common car out there and besides, once we get to a freeway we are putting as much distance between us and them – before abandoning the car." He didn't look at me once while speaking; he kept his gaze on the road the whole time. But I for one couldn't help but stare at him bluntly.

"Abando –" I cut myself off because I had figured out his words. "So what, we're gonna go on foot or are you going to steal a new car?"

"I'm going to steal a new car." He says matter-of-factly.

I stare at him in shock. "I was joking. And you're joking, too… right?" He smirks at my question, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road. Of course he would do such a thing, I think to myself, if he works for Iroh that's not all he's capable of. In that moment I realize that I'm probably better off without him and thus I decide to run away. I don't know which part of my brain had driven me to mouth these words, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I am going to regret them, but I say them nonetheless:

"You know, I am sure I'll be fine on my own now. Thanks for, you know, rescuing me and all that, but you can drop me at the nearest bus stop now." I look in his direction and we lock eyes for a moment. His expression is one of…mockery.

_He is mocking me!_ I think angered. "Are you mocking me?" I exclaim aloud.

"Of course." He now looks at me before continuing. "Look, Toph, the thing is I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it as a favor to Iroh. Plus your dad is paying me. So whatever little escape plan you think you came up with – get it out of your head because I'm not taking my eyes off of you." I am taken aback by his words. In a matter of seconds I went from stunned to pissed.

"My dad is paying you? For what?! To protect me? Because let me tell you; I don't need protection."

"Okay, but you're still stuck with me." I manage a frustrated exhale before turning my head from him. For the remainder of the hour we stayed silent so I used the spare time think about my situation. I rewind our conversation in my head. I realize for the first time since I met him that I don't know his name.

"What's your name?" I ask, straddling him. He looked to be in deep thought. "You should really pay attention to the road." I smirk.

"Aang," he says, "My name is Aang."

"That's a cool name. What does it mean?" I glance at him, eyeing his reaction. He stays silent for a moment.

"It means 'peaceful soaring' or 'wise'" He says. I burst out laughing and, by the look on his face, I could tell that he knew exactly what I'm laughing about.

"Well, that's irony at its finest. You? Peaceful? Hilarious." Then I start laughing again and soon enough, he joins me.


End file.
